ted for tears, too hopeless to think of possible
to-morrows.

Poor little prince in the clutches of the ogre! If only fairy tales
might be true! If only some gracious spirit of elfin lore might really
come at such a time with its magic wand of healing! Then there would be
no more little desolate hearts, no more grieved little faces with
undried tears upon them in all the earth. Over every threshold where a
child's wee feet had pattered in and found a home, it would hang its
guardian Scissors of Avenging, so that only those who belong to the
kingdom of loving hearts and gentle hands would ever dare to enter.

CHAPTER IV.

A LETTER AND A MEETING.

Nearly a week later Joyce sat at her desk, hurrying to finish a letter
before the postman's arrival.

"Dear Jack," it began.

"You and Mary will each get a letter this week. Hers is the fairy tale
that Cousin Kate told me, about an old gate near here. I wrote it down
as well as I could remember. I wish you could see that gate. It gets
more interesting every day, and I'd give most anything to see what lies
on the other side. Maybe I shall soon, for Marie has a way of finding
out anything she wants to know. Marie is my new maid. Cousin Kate went
to Paris last week, to be gone until nearly Christmas, so she got Marie
to take care of me.

"It seems so odd to have somebody button my boots and brush my hair, and
take me out to walk as if I were a big doll. I have to be very dignified
and act as if I had always been used to such things. I believe Marie
would be shocked to death if she knew that I had ever washed dishes, or
pulled weeds out of the pavement, or romped with you in the barn.

"Yesterday when we were out walking I got so tired of acting as if I
were a hundred years old, that I felt as if I should scream. 'Marie,' I
said, 'I've a mind to throw my muff in the fence-corner and run and hang
on behind that wagon that's going down-hill.' She had no idea that I was
in earnest. She just smiled very politely and said, 'Oh, mademoiselle,
impossible! How you Americans do love to jest.' But it was no joke. You
can't imagine how stupid it is to be with nobody but grown people all
the time. I'm fairly aching for a good old game of hi spy or prisoner's
base with you. There is nothing at all to do, but to take poky walks.

"Yesterday afternoon we walked down to the river. There's a double row
of trees along it on this side, and several benches where people can
wait for the t